


see the whole of me igniting

by postcardmystery



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Blood, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postcardmystery/pseuds/postcardmystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want it in my contract that you have to take your medication," says Darren, completely shameless, and Geoffrey flicks his razorblade between his teeth, says, "Still the same old Darren, eh?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	see the whole of me igniting

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for self harm, blood, suicide, and hospitalisation for mental illness.

Geoffrey Tennant has never been to Berlin. There isn't a question there, but there's an answer, if you were looking for it.  
  
Here's the thing to regret: nobody ever is.  
  
  
  
  
  
Geoffrey's got glass embedded in his palms and Darren's holding a pair of tweezers, and there's blood in hair that's matching, dark, The Headstones are on the radio and Darren's lips are pulled back from his teeth in a very familiar sneer and Geoffrey's hand hurts, it  _hurts_ , and there's blood on Darren's fingers but he's still pulling, he's still pulling, and Geoffrey laughs, drunk on it, and Darren smirks, not even trying to hide it, glass hitting the bottom of their metal sink with an angry, staccato noise, and this wasn't supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen, but isn't that what Geoffrey always says, isn't this where it always ends?  
  
"I liked that mirror," says Darren, only a little chiding, and Geoffrey bares his teeth, says, "Thought you'd appreciate the postmodern aspects of this. You could turn it into an installation."  
  
"You have to catch biodegradables early," says Darren, without missing a beat, literally, pulling out the shards to the heavy bass rhythm of the song that's filling their kitchen like a spotlight, and Geoffrey throws his head back, forces his eyes shut, because he's an old hand - ha! - at this, and he can tell when the pain's really going to start hitting, mutters, "Of course you do."  
  
  
  
  
"That's going to scar, you absolute bastard," says Darren, pulling his scarf tight around a gash in his wrist, and Geoffrey flicks his rapier up to his chin, says, "And what about this? At least you can wear long sleeves."  
  
"Like you always do, you mean?" says Darren, blithely, and Geoffrey growls at him for the twentieth time that night, because there are secrets that you show and don't tell, secrets that a razor made and Darren should know better, he  _always_  should know better, they both should, but they don't and they never have and there's blood on the carpet and blood on the quadrangle and neither of them were taught stage combat for this, that's for sure.  
  
"I  _hate_  you," say Geoffrey, and even he's shocked by the venom of it, and Darren snarls at him, his favourite Geoffrey expression, gives him nothing but a thoroughly ambiguous, "Not nearly as much as I do."  
  
  
  
  
Darren sees the world and Geoffrey sees the inside of a hospital ward. There's a pattern there, if you're looking, but they know these lines and they're spoken them a thousand times, and Geoffrey's sent postcards written in German and Darren gets 3am phone calls where not a single word is spoken, and they know how to play these roles, they've played them a thousand times, and Geoffrey Tennant hasn't been to Berlin but he's been to Hell and back, and maybe that's enough, maybe that's the secret he never seems to stop looking for.  
  
  
  
  
"I want it in my contract that you have to take your medication," says Darren, completely shameless, and Geoffrey flicks his razorblade between his teeth, says, "Still the same old Darren, eh?"

 

 

They define themselves by difference, so in time the world does, too. They both wear vestiges of something quite a lot like fame, and there's nothing like a bitter rivalry to make the world sit up and take notice. They slander each other in print and send each other postcards scrawled with secrets so banal they'd never matter to anybody else. Geoffrey quits New Burbage and Darren quits Canada, roams Europe until he grows tired of it and finds himself back in Montreal with French on his lips and Geoffrey's number in his cell phone. Geoffrey has a plastic wristband around his wrist (where Darren's answering scar lies) and Ellen's long gone.  
  
"Come to laugh at my misfortunes?" says Geoffrey, and there's grey in his hair and lines around his eyes and new scars that Darren can't quite help looking at, and Darren throws his scarf over his shoulder, says, " _Schadenfreude_ , you know me."  
  
  
  
  
"I've never hated anybody more," says Geoffrey, and Darren shrugs, fluid, tightens his cravat, says, " _Ich hasse dich_ , too, darling."  
  
Geoffrey pulls his passport out of his (mouldering) coat pocket and Darren wrinkles his nose theatrically, as, above them, the final boarding call for Berlin is announced.


End file.
